Chapter 75 Why Can’t Our Ancestors Have This…

Chapter 75: Why Can't Our Ancestors Have This...

"As soon as possible. The grave must be relocated before the Mid-Autumn Festival." The Marquis of Jinyang seemed genuinely urgent, as if a single day's delay would jeopardize some crucial matter.

"So soon?" A Chan feigned hesitation. "But I've heard that before relocating a grave, one must select an auspicious site and have the feng shui assessed. After finding the right spot, an appropriate day for excavation must also be chosen. Fifteen days—isn’t that too hasty?"

The Marquis of Jinyang showed impatience: "It's just moving a grave. Why all this fuss?"

"You’re mistaken, Marquis. Surely your family observed feng shui rites too when burying your own. Why is it so casual when it comes to my mother?"

The Marquis frowned. At this moment, the matron standing behind him spoke up.

"Miss, there's no need to argue with the Marquis. If you don’t wish to move the grave, that’s fine. But then, who knows what might become of Lin Shi’s remains?"

A Chan glanced up at her, unperturbed, and asked, "Does she speak for you, Marquis?"

"Indeed," the Marquis replied, casting a sidelong glance at the maidservant.

This matron attended Xue Shi, who had insisted she accompany him today, fearing Ji Chan’s words might sway him.

The Marquis felt helpless. Since he had already agreed, how could Ji Chan possibly sway him?

Recently, Xue Shi had consulted a feng shui master, who claimed that Lin Shi’s grave remaining in place was disrupting the manor’s geomantic harmony, leading to their son Zhao’er’s misfortune. To ensure their unborn child’s safety, they had to persuade Ji Chan to move the grave. Though the Marquis didn’t believe in feng shui, he felt indebted to Xue Shi, especially seeing how devastated she was by Zhao’er’s death and how it affected her pregnancy. Thus, he had agreed.

"Very well. I’ll have someone select an auspicious site in the coming days. Once the relocation date is set, I’ll inform you."

Seeing A Chan relent, the maidservant looked smug.

But then A Chan added, "I suppose my mother would understand. After all, space in your family’s ancestral plot is limited. Once she’s gone, others can take her place. How is the Lady Marquise’s health lately? Losing a child in middle age—she must take good care of herself."

"How dare you curse my mistress!" the maidservant exploded, pointing at A Chan. "The Marquis and his lady have shown you courtesy, yet you repay them with ingratitude! A wanton woman like your mother—"

"Silence!" The Marquis cut her off sharply.

The maidservant glanced at him and reluctantly shut her mouth.

"So I misunderstood. The Marquis didn’t come to discuss the grave but to humiliate me and my mother," A Chan said leisurely. "Your attitude was quite different last time in front of Lord Bai. I suppose you think I’m easier to bully without him here?"

"Apologize at once!" The Marquis’s voice turned icy as he glared at the maidservant.

Not daring to defy him, she muttered reluctantly, "This old crone misspoke. Please forgive me, Miss Ji."

"So this is how apologies are taught in the Marquis’s household? Hurl insults, then expect pardon? That’s asking too much of me."

The Marquis kicked the maidservant behind the knees, sending her crashing to the ground with a shriek. Her knees struck jagged stones, the pain searing, but she dared not move.

A Chan didn’t spare her a glance and said to the Marquis, "You may go, Marquis. I’ll send word once the burial site is chosen."

"Very well." The Marquis, seemingly eager to avoid further trouble, turned and boarded his carriage.

The maidservant scrambled up, not daring to ride inside, and limped alongside the carriage.

As soon as the carriage turned around, Chen Hui appeared in A Chan’s line of sight. With her sharp hearing, she had caught their entire exchange.

Carrying two wooden molds, she approached A Chan and glanced at the departing carriage, looking surprised. "I heard the Marquis once led troops in battle. Who knew he could bend so easily?"

A Chan chuckled. "It’s not that he bends easily—it’s Lord Bai’s enduring influence that’s terrifying."

Sighing sincerely, she added, "Lord Bai is so useful. I’d love to enshrine him in my home and pay him homage daily."

Then, whenever trouble arose, she could just invoke him, and no one would dare cross her.

Chen Hui’s mouth twitched. "I doubt Lord Bai would agree."

"Once our friendship deepens, he might." A Chan’s eyes shone at the thought of Bai Xiuming.

After shielding her from so much trouble, Lord Bai’s standing in her heart was nearly surpassing even their ancestors—not just useful but also easy to handle.

Chen Hui shook her head helplessly. Only A Chan would dare say such things.

A Chan’s gaze fell on the molds in Chen Hui’s hands, and Bai Xiuming was promptly forgotten. "Hui Niang, let’s have mooncakes tonight. I want chicken-stuffed ones."

"Not tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll make you shredded chicken and salted egg yolk mooncakes."

"Fine. I want four."

"No."

...

When the carriage returned to the Marquis’s manor, he headed straight for his study. The maidservant, exhausted from limping alongside the carriage, dared not rest and hurried to the main courtyard, panting.

Xue Shi was reclining on a chaise lounge, chatting with Xue Ying, her loose robes draped over her swollen belly.

Seeing the disheveled maidservant return, Xue Shi glanced at her. "Did Ji Chan refuse to move the grave?"

Not daring to hide anything, the maidservant recounted everything that had happened.

Xue Shi didn’t punish her, merely waving her off.

Once she left, Xue Ying’s face contorted with hatred. "Father is too biased toward Ji Chan! Wasn’t what Old Zhao said the truth? Why should she apologize?"

Xue Shi replied coolly, "Your father has always preferred peace at any cost. And Ji Chan is cunning—she’s ensnared Lord Bai, who’s hopelessly besotted with her. Naturally, your father doesn’t want to provoke her."

Since leaving the manor, Ji Chan had become uncontrollable—and alarmingly capable. After Lord Bai’s single visit, the Marquis forbade provoking her further. But how could Xue Shi let go of the grudge over her son’s death?

She recalled recent news: the black tiger demon’s corpse, which had killed her child, had been disposed of by the Bright Mirror Bureau. The tiger pelt, coveted by several princes, had been given to Ji Chan by Lord Bai—what an outrageous favor.

Though seldom spoken of openly among the nobility, many knew of Ji Chan. After the Lotus Garden incident, numerous families resented her, yet none dared act—all because Lord Bai publicly championed her, and no one wanted to cross him.

But even Lord Bai couldn’t protect Ji Chan constantly. Her son’s life wouldn’t be avenged so lightly!

"But Ji Chan killed Brother! How can we just let it go?" Xue Ying, still youthful, couldn’t mask her hatred.

She still couldn’t believe that a carefree excursion had ended with her brother’s death. For weeks, she had been grief-stricken, unable to accept that her devoted brother was gone.

At first, she thought it was just misfortune—a chance encounter with the demonic scourge. Only later did she learn it was because of Ji Chan.

Though her father dismissed it as misfortune, she and her mother were certain Ji Chan was responsible. Why had everyone else survived except her brother?

Xue Shi drew her daughter close, soothing her back. "Of course I won’t let your brother’s killer go unpunished. She made him suffer before death—she’ll endure the same agony."

Xue Shi shut her eyes at this moment, as if she could still see the horrific sight of her son's death. A flicker of fury involuntarily flashed across her face.

"But what about Father..." Xue Ying hesitated.

"Your father need never know," Xue Shi said faintly.

Since A Chan had already decided to move Lin Shi's grave from the Ji family, she needed to find a new burial site.

Humans were different from her demon kin—they couldn’t just dig a hole and bury someone. Fortunately, Boss Xu next door had wide connections and introduced her to a locally famous feng shui master in the area.

A Chan gave the man a hundred taels of silver before he agreed to select an auspicious burial site within three days and oversee the reburial.

On the third day, the feng shui master took A Chan to see the new grave. Though he went on about mountain and water alignments, the Azure Dragon and White Tiger, and such, she didn’t understand a word of it.

She couldn’t help but feel that humans studied something utterly mystical—mystifying but awe-inspiring.

After finishing his explanation, the feng shui master turned and saw A Chan’s utter confusion. Stroking his beard, he chuckled and summarized, "This is an extremely auspicious site, beneficial for descendants and sure to bless the young lady with prosperity in business."

This part she understood. It was indeed an auspicious site, though she had no idea how exactly it would bring blessings. Why couldn’t her ancestors have such an effect? A Chan couldn’t help but wonder.

"Does the young lady have any other requests?" the feng shui master asked again.

"None," A Chan replied quickly. "Since the grave has been chosen, the relocation in two days will be left to Master Yang."

"You flatter me, young lady. This is merely my duty."

Seeing that the feng shui master seemed quite knowledgeable, A Chan asked further, "Before the relocation, is there anything else I need to prepare?"

The feng shui master pondered for a moment. "If the young lady has the means, it would be good to light nine eternal lights in a temple for your mother before the relocation, and pray before the lights about moving her to a new resting place. People say eternal lights guide the deceased—though I don’t believe it myself, the meaning is auspicious."

A Chan laughed. This Master Yang was a straightforward fellow.

"Then I’ll follow your advice."

After marking the burial plot, the feng shui master bid farewell to A Chan and left with his two young assistants in a carriage.

A Chan decided to take his advice and go to a temple to light eternal lights for Lin Shi.

Returning to the carriage, she discussed it with Chen Hui, who thought for a moment and said, "The nearest temple around here is Gushan Temple. I once went there with my mother to light eternal lights for my grandparents. The incense offerings aren’t as plentiful as in other temples, but the scenery is nice, and the vegetarian fare is quite good. Why not visit?"

A Chan hesitated. She wasn’t particularly interested in vegetarian food.

Chen Hui read her instantly and teased, "The monks there can make vegetarian dishes taste like meat."

A Chan secretly pouted. No matter how much they resembled meat, they still wouldn’t be as good as the real thing. She’d much rather go home and eat roast chicken.

Just then, her stomach betrayed her with an unmistakable rumble. Rubbing her belly, she realized she’d only had a bowl of porridge before the morning hike and had forgotten to bring snacks in the carriage. She was starving.

"Fine, let’s go to Gushan Temple," she finally gave in to her hunger. Since it was nearby, she could make do with vegetarian food.

The carriage bounced along the uneven mountain path, making A Chan so uncomfortable that she climbed out to sit beside Chen Hui and chat.

The scenery along the road was beautiful, but A Chan wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.

After about another fifteen minutes, they arrived at the foot of the mountain where Gushan Temple stood.

When they arrived, another carriage was already parked there—luxurious in appearance but bearing no family crest.

A Chan couldn’t help but glance at it a few times before looking away.

Gushan Temple wasn’t at the mountain’s peak but halfway up, just a hundred steps up to reach.

A stable had been built at the foot, tended by monks who would watch the horses for just ten coppers. Since both A Chan and Chen Hui were going to the temple and no one could stay with the carriage, they had no choice but to pay.

After settling the carriage, the two began ascending the steps.

At first, A Chan thought a hundred steps would be easy. But by the time she reached the top, her legs had turned to jelly.

In the end, Chen Hui had to pull and drag her before they finally made it through the temple gates.

Seeing A Chan too exhausted to move, Chen Hui asked a monk to arrange a meditation chamber for her to rest while she went to discuss the eternal lights with the officiant.

After making her temple offering, the officiant left to prepare the lamps.

Before departing, the officiant said to Chen Hui, "This humble monk needs about an hour to prepare. If the benefactor is not in a hurry, you may walk about the temple. The monastic refectory in the rear courtyard is open to visitors."

Chen Hui nodded slightly. "Then I won’t disturb the officiant. I’ll return in an hour."

A Chan stayed in the quiet room for a while, finally recovering. Rubbing her sore legs, her earlier good mood suddenly turned somber.

Last time, she had helped Song Yan, thinking the third binding chain would break, allowing her body to recover somewhat.

But for some reason, she hadn’t been able to enter a meditative trance since then. After days of waiting, she finally realized—the act of helping Song Yan went unrecognized by the shackles restraining her.

Why?

What made Song Yan different from the others she had helped? Gender? Surely it couldn’t be something so shallow.

After much deliberation, A Chan could only think of one reason: because Song Yan wasn’t human.

Xiao Lin Shi and Hui Niang, whom she had helped before, had eventually become wrathful ghosts and walking corpses—but they had once been human. Song Yan, though avenging humans, was not one himself.

So, he didn’t count?

These past days, whenever she thought about it, she remembered the look her mother had given her many years ago.

That open revulsion—solely because she was a half-demon, not human.

If the shackles truly had been set by her mother, this rule—made terrible sense.

But what was so wrong with not being human?

She had always been a demon. She never thought being human was better than being a demon, and she still felt the same now.

If possible, she’d rather return to her demon form than remain this weak mortal form.

Just then, the door to the quiet room swung open from outside. A Chan looked up in surprise as the person who opened it gasped in surprise upon seeing her:

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

A Chan didn’t look at the speaker but at the woman standing behind the maid. Statuesque and striking, the woman’s radiant beauty was undeniable even in unadorned white robes—her pupils, however, were the vertical pupils of a predator.